


Parenting Skills

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Going To The Special Hell, Hooker Hamish, It's never specified but Hamish is like 16-17 or so, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, So possibly underage, Spitroasting, Yeah it's just porn guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1838656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish makes money by selling his body. One night he gets a client who asks if he's willing to be shared. When he agrees, he has no idea what he's in for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parenting Skills

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I just... I have no excuses.

It started as nothing more than an easy way to earn spending money. Shedding his clothes off for strangers wasn’t horrible, and the worst he’d ever gotten was an unwanted slap on the arse. He couldn’t dance on the pole- no, only the best dancers ever tried that, and he admired their skills (and muscles)- but it made little difference. The pay was good and there was relatively little skill or effort involved besides keeping himself in good shape.

And of course his parents never needed to know about any of it. The dancing, the stripping. Once he had been caught with glittery residue on his trousers, but that had been explained away as an end of the year school prank, complete with a Google search of glitterbombing.

The only change in the routine had come by way of a complete accident. He never remembered the name of the man that had tucked the fifty dollar bill beside his trousers and whispered instructions in his ear. Could barely recall the face of the man who’d led him to the back and given him the offer that would change his life. Couldn’t bring to mind the scent of the man’s sweat as he pistoned in and out, sheathed in the layer of latex that Hamish insisted he wear. What he did remember was the fat wad of bills the man had handed him afterwards. It was more than he made in a month by dancing, and it didn’t appear to be counterfeit or anything.

And so Hamish had quit.

Soliciting out his body was different, in a way. Well, in many ways. He found a small organization that specialized in helping newcomers to the business orient themselves in a safe manner. It was more than he ever could have asked for. All he had to do was name his limits, and they notified him whenever he had a potential client. From there, he could either accept or decline, based on his schedule. Everything worked perfectly.

It was nearly midnight, and Hamish was bent low over his desk, pouring over his genetics textbook. Beside him stood a lamp, shedding a dim light over half of the table. He scratched the back of his neck as he read, unconcerned with what he was supposed to be learning.

His phone chimed from where it rested in his jacket pocket. Hamish fished it out and, after turning the volume off, checked his messages. There was one from the company, yes- perfect. The best excuse not to study. He replied, telling them that yes, tonight would be perfect. Nearly a minute later, his phone alerted him to a new message again, this time from the client.

_Would you be opposed to the idea of being shared? S_

_Not at all,_ he wrote back. _Though of course you’ll have to pay extra. H_

 _Of course,_ the client replied. _What are your rates? S_

_100 for three hours and 250 for a whole night. H_

_How does 600 for one night sound? S_

Hamish stared at the message. Six hundred pounds? It was more than he’d ever gotten before, more than he’d ever seen before. Was this person serious?

_500 for one night covers the cost of both of you. H_

_I am well aware. My offer still stands. S_

Why? Why was this client feeling so generous?

_You don’t need to offer that much. My services are worth the rates I have listed. H_

_If you comply with this deal, your services will be worth much more than any monetary value. S_

Well, someone was a pompous git. Geez. Hamish bit his lip.

_You’re not trying to bribe me out of my limits, are you? Because that won’t work. H_

_Oh, no, not at all. Your limits still stand. I can promise you that nothing will happen without your full and complete consent. S_

_Then why are you offering me that much? H_

_We asked for something very specific and you happened to match our requests. S_

That seemed to be as specific as the stranger was ever going to get. Hamish sighed to himself.

_All right, then. When and where? H_

_St. Ermin’s Hotel. I will make reservations there. Go there at approximately 1:30 AM and give them the name ‘Siger’. Once there, you will wait for us. We shouldn’t take long. S_

_Will do. I’ll see you there. H_

No more messages came through his inbox. Hamish checked the clock- he still had a little time left. He found a small bag and began packing it with the usual- two bottles of lube, a box of condoms, a couple sex toys that he’d bought for himself (and cleaned regularly!), and a canister of pepper spray. Just in case.  He changed into his usual outfit, which he’d never be caught dead in otherwise, and began setting up a dummy with his pillows.

He didn’t hear either of his parents, so they were probably already asleep. His father in particular had begun to turn in earlier and earlier. It was already past midnight, after all. Hoisting the bag over his shoulder, Hamish shimmied open his window and carefully lowered himself down the makeshift rigging he’d set up for occasions just like this one.

The cab ride was silent and exciting. Six hundred pounds! What would he do with it? Save it? Stare at it? He couldn’t just spend it all at once, could he? No, of course not. His parents would notice, obviously. And then what would happen? Disaster. They’d find out, wouldn’t they? What would they do then? Would they take away all the money he’d earned? Ground him? Punish him some other way?

Hamish shook his head to clear his thoughts. None of that was going to happen. He was going to do this gig, get his money, and never let his parents know. Simple as that.

“Siger?” he asked, walking up to the desk. The woman on the other side raised an eyebrow at him before checking the computer. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious why he was here- after all, it was illegal to give a hotel room to a prostitute. She clucked her tongue a couple times before nodding.

“Room 427. One night?” He nodded. “All right, then, here’s your key.” She passed the plastic card over the table. “Enjoy your stay. Breakfast begins at 7:00. You should be checked out by at least 12:00 tomorrow.”

Hamish thanked her and made his way up to the room.

It was pristine. The nicest place he’d ever stayed. Whoever had hired him had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to set this up. It didn’t seem likely that they weren’t trying to bribe him. But he’d already made his point clear, and if everything else failed, he still had his pepper spray.

Hamish yawned and stretched. It was one fifteen. He had enough time to fix himself up proper before his client- clients came.

The bathroom was just as exquisite as the rest of the hotel. Hamish made sure his hair and subtle makeup were done to perfection, and adjusted his clothes nervously. He needed this deal to work out. Six hundred pounds was a lot, and he wasn’t going to risk losing it by any means.

One thirty came and went.

So did one forty five.

At one fifty, Hamish was considering nodding off on the luxurious looking bed when he was startled by the faintest of sounds coming from behind the door. Footsteps! And they were coming closer.

Murmured voices could be heard, two distinct male tones. They had to be his clients.

Hamish adjusted himself on the bed, unsure of what would be expected of him. The handle of the door beeped as the key card was recognized, and then- the door swung open inwards, and Hamish’s heart stopped.

Standing in the doorway were his parents.

“Hello, Hamish,” Sherlock greeted, a half smile gracing his lips.

They were dressed for all the world as if they were about to attend some formal event. His father was dressed in his usual white shirt and suit jacket, that was nothing new. But his dad… his dad had on a suit and tie, something Hamish hardly ever saw him wearing.

“F-father?” Hamish stuttered. “Dad? What-”

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re here,” Sherlock continued, ushering John in and closing the door behind him. John made his way over to Hamish’s bag and began to look through it. Hamish would have yelled at him to knock it off, had it been any other client.

“I don’t understand,” he said instead, the words aimed for his father but his gaze focused on his dad.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?” Sherlock asked, stepping forward. Hamish suddenly felt very exposed in his skin-tight clothing. He crossed his legs, staring up at his father. “The decoys you left in your bed, the stash of money you kept beneath your floorboards.” Sherlock tutted. “Really, Hamish. I thought we taught you better than that.”

“He brought pepper spray,” John piped up, holding the small canister up.

“At least you do have some sense in you,” Sherlock concluded. “John, bring that over. I believe we’ll need to make good use of its contents.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Hamish asked, looking between Sherlock and John.

“We did hire you,” Sherlock pointed out. “It would be a shame to let this hotel room go to waste.”

“Hmm, yes,” John added. “It seems you’ve prepared quite a bit. Looking forward to this one, were you?”

“Well, I mean. You did say six hundred pounds,” Hamish retorted, even as he shrunk from his parents. Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder.

“Relax. We’re going to take care of you, Hamish.”

“Yes, we are. Especially after all you must have been through by now. Not all of them can be as loving as we can, hmm?” John smiled, and it was a smile that Hamish had never come into contact with before in his life. It unsettled him beyond his core, and he shivered.

“I told you to relax, Hamish,” Sherlock repeated. “We’re paying six hundred pounds to make _you_ feel good. The least you can do is appreciate it.”

“Make me…?” Hamish trailed off, confused.

John, from his left, pulled out the toys he’d packed. “You have quite the collection,” he mused, holding a plug in one hand and a vibrator in the other. “Is this what you spend all of your saved money on?”

“N-not _all_ of it.”

John laughed, then, and Hamish was surprised to find that the laugh matched neither John’s previous smile, nor any other laugh he’d heard before. It was something he knew that only his father had ever been privy to before, a laugh that was meant for one person only. And he had gotten to hear it. Hamish let himself smile, just a little.

“There we go. Such a good boy. You’re going to be a good boy for us, aren’t you, Hamish?” Sherlock purred, running a hand through Hamish’s hair.

John pressed the back of the vibrator, and at once a dull humming sound filled the room. “Not bad,” John commented. He cycled it through the settings, and found that there were five. Three progressively stronger vibrations, followed by two patterns.

Without warning, the vibrator was pressed up against his clothed cock, ramped up to the strongest vibration it could muster. Hamish yelped, jolting under the touch.

Sherlock chuckled. “Now, now, John. We need to savor this opportunity, not squander it.”

John nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Just wanted to see how he reacted.” He switched the vibrator off and set it back down on the bed, next to the plug.

“Clothes. Off.” Sherlock stood, surveying both John and Hamish.  John stood as well.

“You heard your father.”

Nervous and under the scrutiny of both their gazes, Hamish began to undress. The shirt took a little longer to remove than usual, due to it getting stuck multiple times. He finally peeled it off and threw it to the side of the bed, where his bag had rested. Next came his trousers. Hamish paused before beginning to take them off as well.

“I said clothes off,” Sherlock reminded him, gently. “I meant all of them.”

Hamish swallowed thickly, feeling exposed enough already, down to nothing but his pants- which were doing very little in the way of hiding either the erection he was sporting or the precum leaking from it- but he did as his father told him and carefully slid them from his legs.

“Look at that,” John breathed. “Oh, he’s beautiful.”

“Gorgeous,” Sherlock agreed. “Shall we treasure him together?”

“Oh, yes, let’s.”

Hands were on him, now, roving up and down and over and sideways, pinching his nipples briefly before continuing their searches all over his body. One hand- he couldn’t tell whose- fisted his cock lazily as one mouth explored his chest and the other his neck. Hamish closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel, to immerse himself in the touch.

“Mmn, my little baby boy,” he heard John murmur, and knew then that the mouth on his neck was Sherlock’s.

“Not a baby anymore,” he muttered.

The hand on his cock squeezed, and he whimpered. Sherlock laughed. “No,” he agreed. “Not a baby anymore.”

“Turn him over,” John said, pulling away. “I want to see him.”

The hands began moving him, forcing him- no, not forcing him, guiding him over until he was resting on his stomach, back and arse up for the world to see.

A sharp slap echoed across the hotel room, and he heard John sigh. His arse cheeks didn’t burn, but the left one stung a little from where John’s hand had come down on it. Again, John dealt a blow, and again. Again. Again.

“Look at that, Sherlock, will you just look at that.”

Hamish raised his arse a little higher up into the air, biting his lip.

“Hmm, yes. Go on, he’s practically begging for more,” Sherlock murmured.

And so it went on. John slapping his arse, and down his thighs. Hamish was sore and burning and stinging from the slaps, but he didn’t mind. As John gave him one last slap, hard against his right buttock, Hamish let out a soft groan, face smushing into the pillows.

Sherlock’s hands were on him now, cool and smooth and- slick? Hamish looked up, and sure enough John was holding one of the bottles of lube in his hand, Sherlock holding the other.

“As I said before,” Sherlock said, and Hamish met his gaze, neck twisted over his shoulder, “nothing happens here without your consent.”

Hamish nodded immediately. “I- yes, whatever you want, just- just don’t stop, please.”

Sherlock smiled silkily. “Of course.”

The hand continued down between his arse cheeks, slick fingers slipping down and circling around his hole. It was loose enough, used to being opened and stretched on a regular basis.

“John, would you be kind enough to hand me that plug?” Hamish heard his father ask, just as a finger slipped past the ring of muscle and began working itself in and out of his hole. Hamish moaned, shivering at the contact. Another finger joined it nearly instantaneously. “My, you’re open,” Sherlock murmured. “Lovely.” The fingers retracted, and Hamish had only a few seconds for his brain to compute their loss before he felt something else press up against his hole. It was slick as well, but not nearly as warm or as flexible as his father’s fingers had been. He realized that it was the plug, and bore down accordingly.

The plug slipped inside easily and fit snugly, Hamish’s hole closing tightly around the base. He could feel his muscles spasm around it, unsure of what exactly whey were supposed to be doing with the new intrusion.

“And now the vibrator.”

The buzzing sound was accompanied by a rumbling, by the sensation of the plug being pressed up as far into him as it could go combined with the vibrations humming through it. Hamish shivered, fists clenching the sheets. The vibrator cycled, thrumming higher and higher before petering out again.

The plug remained, even as he was turned back over onto his back.

The sound of rustling clothing brought his attention back to his parents. Sherlock, whose fingers were sticky with lube, had rid himself of his trousers. Hamish didn’t see any evidence that suggested his father had been wearing anything underneath them, but couldn’t find it within himself to care.

His head was now by the side of the bed, his body curved so that his legs ran down the length of the mattress. Sherlock stroked his arse again before stepping over.

“Go on.” Hamish blinked, eyeing his father’s cock. It was big, not the biggest he’d ever seen, but certainly bigger than his own. He licked his lips once before leaning up and lapping at the tip. Sherlock inhaled sharply.

“That’s it,” John encouraged, running a hand through Hamish’s hair. “Just like that. We’re so proud of you.”

Hamish sat up, swinging his legs so they hung off the side of the bed. A much better angle. He lapped again at the tip of Sherlock’s cock before taking the head into his mouth and suckling. He pooled saliva into the bottom of his mouth, laving his tongue over the bottom a few times.

“Oh, yes, Hamish,” Sherlock breathed, hand mingling with John’s in Hamish’s black curls. “Yes, yes, yes.”

John’s hand became firmer on the back of his head, and he found himself being forced forward. Sherlock’s cock sank back into his throat, brushing the back, and he gagged. Gasping, he pulled himself off to catch his breath before diving back down. It was obvious what they wanted. And what could he do but deliver?

“Fuck yes,” John panted. Hamish closed his eyes, even as he heard his dad stripping off his suit jacket, shirt, and trousers. He bobbed his head up and down, saliva running down his chin. He could taste the precome on his tongue, the salty taste that lingered in his mouth even days after he finished a gig.

“Give him here, let me try,” John growled, and Hamish was wrenched off of Sherlock’s cock. He had only a second to breathe before John’s cock was shoved into his mouth instead. It was shorter, but it was wider, and he had to stretch a little more to accommodate it.

“Fuck, oh, fuck, yes,” John panted, hands gripping Hamish’s hair so tightly that Hamish’s eyes welled up a little. His head was slammed down again and again, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t control the saliva that was dribbling from the corners of his mouth-

“That’s enough.”

John thrust into his mouth a few more times before pulling out. Hamish, gasping, sat at the edge of the bed, plug still in his arse, throat properly ruined.

“Fantastic,” John murmured, stroking Hamish’s hair. “Oh, you’re beautiful. You feel wonderful.”

“On your hands and knees, Hamish, there you go. No- here. Put your head by the end of the bed, so I can reach it.”

“Like this?” Hamish asked. He propped himself up so his head was hanging over the end of the bed and his arse was facing the top, with the pillows.

“Perfect. John, over there.”

“Got it.”

John clambered up onto the bed with a small packet in his fingers. Hamish recognized it immediately. John ripped open the condom packet and rolled it on without a second thought. He pressed up against the plug with his thumb before slowly drawing it out. Hamish whimpered as the thickest part breached his hole, but then with a pop, it was out. John trailed a finger down to his hole and teased it, gently.

“Go slowly. No doubt he’s used to the sensation, but all the same, we wouldn’t want to hurt him,” Sherlock said, walking over to the end of the bed. “Go on, suck,” he told Hamish, who greedily leaned forward and continued suckling on Sherlock’s cock.

John, meanwhile, pressed the tip of his cock up against Hamish’s hole. A hand rested gently on Hamish’s back, and he stilled, Sherlock’s cock just pressing the back of his throat.

John pushed forward, taking it an inch at a time. Hamish breathed heavily, throat and arse convulsing with their respective intrusions. John thrust a few times as he was halfway sheathed, before pressing forward the rest of the way and sinking down to the hilt, groaning softly.

Hamish moaned around Sherlock’s cock.

“That’s it, baby boy,” John murmured, stroking up and down Hamish’s back. “Just like that, just… just take it, _just_ like that. Oh, you’re such a good baby boy, yes you are. _So_ good.”

“He’s ready,” Sherlock said, and John began to thrust gently, in and out, careful not to startle Hamish at all.

Hamish pressed back against every thrust, pushed himself further down on Sherlock’s cock in between them. They settled on a rhythm- when John pushed forward, so would Sherlock, and Hamish would be torn. Either way he moved, he would be impaled further on the opposite side. When John pulled out, Sherlock would do the same, and Hamish was left gasping for air and desperate to be filled again.

It grew faster, until John began to slam forward, in and out. Sherlock mirrored him, balls slapping Hamish’s chin with every thrust.

And then, all at once, it stopped.

John pulled out, Sherlock lifted his head off. Hamish saw Sherlock nod, and then they began to move. John leapt off the bed and rolled off the condom. Sherlock crawled onto the bed and slipped on a condom of his own. John positioned himself in front of Hamish’s mouth, Sherlock behind his arse.

“Go,” John said, and they worked together, filling and depriving him, in and out, in and out.

A hand wrapped itself around his cock as they fucked him, and he tensed. Were they going to come inside him? Really? Would John come in his mouth? Would he be forced to swallow whatever was given to him?

Sherlock timed a thrust particularly well, and he could feel his father’s cock brush up against his prostate. All at once, pleasure shot down his thighs and he trembled, yelling and moaning around John’s cock as he came, spilling under his father’s hand, white come splattering over the bed.

Sherlock pulled out, and John eased his way out of Hamish’s mouth. Sherlock peeled off the condom. He nodded at John before lying down himself, pulling Hamish up on top of him.

And then he was filled again, sat on top of Sherlock, who moaned appreciatively.

John straddled him- Hamish lay on his back, pressed up against his father. John lined his cock up as well and _oh,_ the stretch was exquisite. It was painful, more painful than anything Hamish had encountered in his days in the profession, but fuck it felt good. John sank down, down, down, until at last they were both buried inside him, cocks squeezed tight together, snug against every inch of him, rubbing against his prostate, against every part of him. Hamish groaned, and felt his own cock begin to swell again. It bobbed up against his stomach, still wet with the come it had spent. More precome bubbled sluggishly onto his stomach, and he resisted the urge to take himself in hand.

It was John that thrust first.

The sensation was exquisite. Being filled to the brim, and still having the pleasure of being pounded into, again and again. Hamish closed his eyes, allowing whatever sounds that came to escape through his throat and filter out his mouth. They both thrust in and out, in and out, filling him so impossibly completely that he had nothing more to give them.

John came with a yell, slamming down into him and spilling out, and fuck, Hamish could _feel_ that-

“I can feel that,” Sherlock breathed, thrusting madly alongside him. “Oh, god, John, I can feel that, I can feel you-”

Sherlock came as well, shouting and burying himself deep inside of Hamish.

They both pulled out after several breaths and just watched for a few moments. Come and lube leaked down, out of Hamish’s hole, down his thighs. It was beautiful. Sherlock ran his finger through it and pushed some back in, only to watch it leak out again and spill back down onto the mattress.

Hamish, desperate, reached down to stroke himself to completion, but two hands stopped him- one from each parent.

“We’ll take care of you, darling,” Sherlock assured him, before wriggling out from underneath him and joining John.

Tongues, two of them, two mouths, dancing along either side of his cock. Hamish panted, chest heaving up and down, cock harder than he could ever remember it being in his life. Something else pressed up against his hole and he wondered for a moment what it could be before the button on the bottom was pressed twiceand it began vibrating and pulsing inside him, pressed right up against his prostate. Hamish was pushed towards the edge, he was so close, just one more press, just one more lick- The vibrator hummed again,button pressed once more, until it was rumbling at its highest setting, ruthlessly vibrating against his prostate, and-

The first spurt of come covered his stomach. Sherlock then swallowed him down, sucking and milking out the next stream of come. It was incredible, the feeling that he was coming down Sherlock’s throat, and Sherlock was swallowing it down as if it were honey. Sherlock pulled off and John took his place, suckling and coaxing out the last burst of fluid. John, too, swallowed everything.

When at last he was spent, Hamish rested on his back, focusing on breathing. His chest was covered with come; his hole was still dribbling all over the covers, which were already messy with the stuff. He spotted a little of it spilling from the side of John’s mouth. Sherlock’s, of course, was impeccable.

“Well,” John said, surprisingly chipper for a man who’d just had a rather fantastic shag. “Sherlock, we agreed?”

“Hm. Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“Jacket pocket.”

“Of course.” John sighed and heaved himself off the hotel bed. He fished around in Sherlock’s jacket pocket before pulling out what he’d been looking for- the wad of bills. “There you go,” he said, setting it in Hamish’s bag. “Six hundred, just like we promised.” He pressed a small kiss to Hamish’s head.

“Come on, John,” Sherlock said, standing. “Hamish needs his rest, after all.”

“Hmm, I bet.”

Hamish, eyes closed, could hear the fondness in his dad’s voice, and smiled.

“We love you, Hamish,” John said.

“Very much,” Sherlock added.

“Love you, too,” Hamish mumbled, sex driven and sleepy.

Clothes rustled as Sherlock and John righted themselves again, and then the door closed and he was alone.

Hamish smiled to himself as he drifted to sleep, wondering only what he was going to spend that six hundred pounds on, and if his parents would want him to share it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you found some enjoyment in this. And hey, tell me if you did!


End file.
